Above a square-domed forehead he saw a mop of brown hair, nut-brown, with a wave to it and hints of curls that were a delight to any woman, making hands tingle to stroke it and fingers tingle to pass caresses through it.

Greg Von Doersten for The Wall Street Journal At The Snake River Brewery 265 Millward Avenue sit on the porch and drink a few rounds of nut-brown ales, sopping up the brew with a bacon double cheeseburger that you'll happily trade a few months of your life for.

Glancing up at the mainsails, his eyes fell on Pazel, and for a moment they regarded each other in silence: an old man stiff and wrinkled as a cypress; a boy in tattered shirt and breeches, nut-brown hair in his eyes, clinging barefoot to the tarred and salt-stiffened ropes.